Faults
by Always With Amy
Summary: Daria isn't special. She never has been. But Tom loves her, just the same. - Unrequited D/T. Mentions of J/T, and D/J.


There's something about Daria Morgendorffer that keeps Tom coming back.

He doesn't know what it is, because there really isn't anything about her that should leave him wanting more. As far as the more shallow aspects of life go, she's plain – her hair is some common combination of red and brown, forever styled in some drab, lifeless way; her dress never shows off any of the positive features she might be trying so hard to hide; she's always _frowning _like something has personally offended her, and the sour expression is _off-putting _to say the least.

Her personality is a whole other can of worms entirely. For as long as Tom's known her – _ten years_, for christ's sake – she's always been the same person. She's always been so _bitter_, and _cynical_, and she never lets herself go and just _be happy_. He doesn't know what it is that's made her like that (because she's never trusted him enough to _tell him_), but he can't even begin to imagine how _horrible _it must have been to shape her into such an _eternally disdainful human being_.

And she's always been _immature_, too. She's never been one to willingly admit that _she was wrong_, even when _she definitely was_. She's never been one to go out of her way to apologize, even when _she really should have_. She's never been one to _put effort into a relationship_, even when the relationship _really deserved it._

But somehow, even after the countless _stupid _fights they've had over the years; after the numerous _half-hearted _make-ups followed by swift _unfazed _break-ups; after the inestimable _stubborn _falling outs and the distant _unapologetic _reconciliations – Tom still doesn't do what he _knows _is the best for him. He still doesn't _stop letting her reel him back in_.

Which is how he finds himself in the living room of Daria Morgendorffer's apartment, staring at her over a coffee table sparsely decorated with books about _Goya _and _Kahlo _and _Tom really doesn't care who else_. It's how he finds himself staring at the girl – the _woman _– that he doesn't even have the pride to pretend he isn't _still completely in love with_, while she informs him very quietly, very unemotionally, very _characteristically_, that she's going to be married. To Jane.

It's not exactly a _surprise _to Tom. He'd always had his suspicions about the pair of them – there were _friendships_, of course, and then there was _an utter dependency on one another that can only result from real, honest __**love**_. The kind of _utter dependency _that keeps bringing Tom back to Daria every time she calls, because _he can't get over how goddamn __**perfect**__ she is to him_.

But it's that same _utter dependency _that Jane has for Daria, too. The only difference between _Jane's utter dependency _and _Tom's utter dependency _is that Daria reciprocates Jane's, and Tom's is forever _rebuffed_.

Tom doesn't tell Daria that he's happy for her. Even if thought that he was – even if he wanted to _pretend _that he was – he knows that she wouldn't believe him. Because even if Daria doesn't _love Tom_, she at least _knows him_, and she would be able to tell that _it wasn't the truth_. So Tom doesn't bother. He just keeps staring at her, staring into those _exceptionally unexceptional _eyes of hers, and trying to remember when things _really _went wrong.

When Daria sighs, and turns to face the wall where a painting – a painting of _Jane's_ – hangs imposingly against the stark blankness of the rest of the room, Tom thinks that it might have been when he first ended up falling for her. When he first started noticing _her _instead of Jane, and when he first started falling asleep thinking about _her _instead of Jane, and when he first started wishing that he was with _her _instead of Jane.

When Daria cracks a small smile at the painting on the wall, without any apparent provocation, Tom thinks that it might have been when he first _let himself _fall for her. When he first started being able to call _her _without a Jane-related excuse, and when he first started going out with _her_ on Friday nights for pizza, and when he actually _was _with _her_, and not Jane.

When Daria remembers that Tom's there, and is startled out of her reverie, Tom knows that it was when he tried to pretend that Daria could love him, too. When he first started pretending that he didn't notice when she was more interested in conversations with _Jane_, with whom she had _so much less _in common, and when he first started pretending that he didn't see the way that her eyes always lit up whenever _Jane _came into the room, and when he first started pretending that _he didn't think it was possible that Daria could want to be with Jane instead_.

"I'm sorry," Daria says, her tone delivering the words unapologetically, though her expression says _so much more _and makes the statement actually seem _sincere_.

Tom catches her eyes once more, before he laughs wryly, and picks up one of the books buried beneath the purely decorative ones that he knows Daria would never buy on her own. It's a worn, illustrated copy of _Animal Farm_, and Tom just has to take a moment and _smile_. Because _that _is something that he knows Daria selected personally, and _that _is something that he would have expected from her all along, and _that _is something that he can tell is worn from actual _use_.

And _that _is also the same thing that he has resting on his bedside table back in his own apartment. The apartment that's a two hour drive away, but that he was _so willing to leave unattended _(there goes another innocent goldfish), just because _Daria called and wanted to see him_.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Tom responds softly as he flips the book open and sees a picture of Boxer being carted away. The illustration is humorous, and the other animals' reactions are comically overstated. It almost looks like it should be aimed at children. Tom understands that that's one of the reasons why Daria likes it so much – because Daria, despite having always been so _mature _and _dry_, has always been longing for fantastic tales of childhood whimsy.

Tom wonders for a moment if Daria and Jane intend to have children soon – maybe artificial insemination, or adoption. Though she'd probably deny it in a second, Tom thinks that Daria would make a wonderful mother – and Jane too, though he's loather to admit it.

He almost makes the mistake of saying as much, but he catches himself just as his mouth opens. Daria gives him a look that's about as curious as her countenance can get, and makes an inquisitive noise, but he just shakes his head and shuts the book.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he murmurs thoughtfully, as his fingertips run over the deteriorated-smooth corners of the novel. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Tom really wishes that he could blame this on Daria. That this was one of those _manymanymany _occasions when she'd said something rude, or done something unnecessary, or was just being generally _insensitive _and owed Tom an apology. But it's not. Because this time, she _really hasn't done anything_. Neither has Tom, if he's being fair to himself and not trying to drown in his own self-pity.

It's not Daria's fault that she's so simple, so natural, and so _pure_. It's not Tom's fault that he really loves how straightforward, and honest, and _genuine _she is. It's not even Jane's fault that Daria loves her for being exciting, and adventurous, and _different_.

It's no one's fault, and there are no apologies to be given or received. Tom just wishes that that was the case under different circumstances.

_**xoxox**_

**AN: **TBH, I don't understand why people hate Tom so much. I've always liked him, and even though [Daria; Jane]/Tom isn't anywhere _close _to being my OTP, I still think it was a nice relationship that ended up showing a lot of character growth in Daria.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.


End file.
